The Edge of Normal
by Weasley's Revenge
Summary: Rachel doesn't remember exactly when it started, but she does remember the first time she noticed. Rachel's sexual desires never seem to match up with those of the men she dates. So of course Santana suggests the only logical next step. Start looking for men in the area you always find them lacking. And that's how she meets Finn Hudson. Finchel. BDSM.
1. Chapter 1

She doesn't remember exactly when it started, but she does remember when she noticed it. Fourteen years old and running around outside with some of the kids from the neighborhood. Colin had pulled up a spring onion with its long, thin green leaves and was chasing the girls around trying to whip them. He got her right on the ass, and it hurt, but it sent that tingle right to where she had recently started to get tingles when she liked something. She doesn't remember when it started, but she does remember when she noticed that she liked the pain.

It's moved on from that of course, and now she's twenty-four and living in the greatest city on Earth, only she's having problems finding the right man to fill the role she needs. She's tried to find the right person, but anytime she brings up the possibility of enjoying sexual domination, it ruins the relationship entirely. So now she has a revised plan.

It's all Santana's fault really. Because girlhood friends who end up becoming adulthood friends know way too much about you and give you the worst kinds of ideas. And during Tuesday's obligatory best-friend-lunch Rachel had been bemoaning the lack of male companionship willing to fulfill her sexual needs when Santana had suggested what should have been the obvious (what was probably obvious to anyone other than Rachel). Why not start looking in the area that men always failed her?

And that's why she finds herself with her best friend in one of the hottest BDSM clubs in New York City. She's wearing a borrowed bustier that, let's face it, is a little loose on her chest because it's borrowed from Santana, but the lacing allows it to be just tight enough. Rachel doesn't own clothing sexy enough to be seen in a place like this, and Santana had been sure to dress her properly for the occasion.

Santana has no interest in this lifestyle, but her sense of style says otherwise, and she fits in perfectly with the leather-clad crowd. She looks like she stepped out of the pages of an erotic novel, and Rachel tries not to be jealous of her friend who will no doubt have had at least five advances before they leave the club. There's no cover-charge for females and the place is dry to promote safety but there is erotic furniture set up everywhere on small stages. The music is loud but not too loud to hear a safeword and Rachel finds a booth. All around it's like live porn, with men and women attached to the different equipment in various stages of sexual depravity. She's wet and they've barely been here for five minutes.

There's a small menu on the table, similar to the drink list at a restaurant and it lists the various services offered as well as the measly drink menu on the other side. One of the servers comes up and asks them if they'd like anything to drink. Rachel declines, and Santana orders the mojito complaining about the lack of rum. The difference between the staff and customers is made obvious by the uniform. Staff are dressed in black slacks and button-downs making them look very professional. Rachel reads through the list of services offered in twenty minute increments and comments on it to Santana. "Huh, you can pay to have one of their 'specialists' whip you. That sounds… interesting." She wishes that she was bold enough to do it. The rate isn't bad, and it's been ages since she's gotten the right level of satisfaction from anything self-inflicted.

Taking the menu from her Santana looks over it herself. Their server comes back with Santana's drink and Rachel gets a sudden burst of courage, speaking up, "I'd—I'd like forty minutes in a private room please. A-and," her voice sticks and her throat is suddenly dry, "Could you please try and get someone who's good with a whip." Her palms are sweating and her heartbeat is erratic but she's done it. Santana gives her a look of approval that makes her think this might be a bad idea after all. Anything Santana approves usually is.

"Of course, we do require payment before services are delivered so if I could just have a card it's easiest to put it on that." Rachel knows that she wants it. She craves the humiliation of getting naked in front of a stranger. Being tied to a wall and whipped until she's dripping down her thighs. She craves the rush and the slow burn, the cloud of endorphins that she can float away on for hours afterwards. She hands the man her card and he walks away again.

"I hate you. I hope you know that." If Santana hadn't drug her out tonight, this wouldn't be happening. This is clearly Santana's fault for forcing Rachel to go and get what she really wants. And they both know that Rachel is only teasing because if it weren't for Santana Rachel wouldn't do half of the things she actually wants to do. She's the play it safe type.

"Uh-huh. I'll be here when you're done and dopey with those endorphins you go on and on and on about." It's why their friendship works. Balance and understanding that goes deeper than is comfortable but is necessary nonetheless.

The man comes back with her card and asks her to follow him. As she rises Rachel sticks her tongue out at Santana, who simply waves her off sipping on her drink. Rachel's heart is pounding and her hands are shaking so hard as she follows the guy into one of the private rooms. It's quieter inside and there's a smaller set up. She'd been expecting more of a "torture chamber" feel and instead it's comfortable and modern. The whipping bench is padded and the lights are dim enough to make her feel a little more relaxed. There's a storage cabinet hanging on the wall and she wonders exactly what implements of torture are stored within. The man who'd led her in gestures to the couch and she sits. "If you'll just wait here, I'll send someone in. There's going to be a small interview so that you two don't go into this blind. The usual stuff, discussion of a safeword and limits. We have the best staff but if at any time you feel uncomfortable or unsafe with your dominant you just have to yell the word "kazoo" and a member of our security team will come in. Your safety and pleasure is what's important." Rachel absorbs all of this and the nervousness comes back.

What if this guy is a total creep? What if he's fifty and gross and tries to pull something while he has her completely at his mercy? This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea. She toys with the ring on her finger spinning it constantly until the door opens.

The man who enters is tall and svelte with a smile that makes her think that this might have been a good decision after all. He walks over to the corner where she's sitting and sits down in the chair across from her. His voice is very level and soothing as he speaks to her. "Hi, I'm Finn. When we're playing I prefer that you call me Sir, but for now please feel free to call me Finn." His smile is doing something to her, and she's not sure if it's relaxing or just making her more tense.

"R-Rachel. My name is Rachel," she speaks with a slight stutter and straightens her bustier self-consciously.

"It's nice to meet you, Rachel. Now, all that I know is that you want forty minutes and someone who's good with a whip. Would you mind telling me what you actually had in mind, and what your experience is? I need to know what I'm working with to make this as pleasurable for you as possible. And please don't feel rushed answering, the forty minutes doesn't start until we've started the scene."

He can't be much older than her, but he seems almost paternal with his steady voice and calming manner. She knows that he can tell she's nervous, and she takes a deep breath trying to organize herself as best as possible. "I would like…" her voice trails off and she thinks about what she would really like. Her deepest fantasy. The one she's never been able to act out properly. "I want to be tied up. Spread eagle in the middle of a room so that I can be whipped from all sides." Her nipples are hard against the fabric of her shirt already, and she knows her panties are on their way to being ruined. She licks her lips. "I have some experience. It's all self-inflicted though, I-I've never found someone who's willing to go as far as I want them to."

"Well, I can do that for you, Rachel. That's my job tonight. To give you that fantasy. Do you have a safeword that you would like to use?" When she shakes her head, he suggests the basic red, yellow system, and she agrees. "Okay, Rachel," she likes the way he says her name, it's different somehow, "You can take off as much or as little clothing as you want but for something like this I suggest complete nudity. I promise I'm a complete professional about all of this. I've seen everything and then some already."

He tells her that he's going to start setting up, and shakes her hand again before walking over to the cabinet. His hand is warm and large around her small, clammy one. He's a professional. He's a professional Rachel so stop being such a damn pussy and just take off your stupid clothes—Santana's stupid clothes. She tries to ignore his movements as he pulls out rope and a flogger, and she faces away from him as she undresses.

Her face is bright red as she approaches with her arms crossed over her chest her pussy exposed to the air and making her shake with embarrassment and nervousness. He's looping some rope through a rigging system suspended in the ceiling seemingly oblivious to her nudity. "Alright Rachel, we're just going to loop both of your wrists together and above your head because it's an easier predicament and it's not as hard on your body since you'll be like this for quite a while." She nods. "If you're okay with that you say 'Yes Sir.' Do you understand that, Rachel?"

She responds to him immediately, "Yes Sir."

"That's a good girl. Give me your wrists, Rachel." His knots are expert as he wraps the rope around her and attaches it to the metal pole hanging down from the rigging. He goes over to the hook on the wall and tugs on some things until her arms are held tightly above her head by the rope around her wrists. She's fully exposed now without her hands to cover her body. "What are your safe words?

"Yellow if I want to slow down play and red if I want to stop it, Sir." He walks away from her and grabs the flogger that he'd laid out on the bed before.

"Good." He's quiet then as he walks back toward her, and the smile on his face lets her know exactly how much he enjoys his job. Finn drags the tassels across her overheated skin and makes it break out in goose bumps as he teases her. The flogger is suede. The first strike is on her ass, and she cries out her muscles tensing. The restraints don't allow her to move of course, and that just adds to the sensation that's making her pussy clench.

It's only a slight burn at first, but he keeps it up with expert rotations of his wrist, hitting her in a steady rhythm before he moved to the other cheek. Next it's her stomach, leaving her tits jealous and lonely. "Please Sir," she whines, and he stops completely.

"Please what you little slut? Please whip that dripping wet pussy? Or what about those perky little tits? Can't stand a little build up?" He's teasing her and humiliating her, and it's just making her arousal stronger.

"All of it, Sir. Please just keep whipping me, Sir." The feeling of each tendril kissing her skin individually is divine. Suede stinging against pert nipples and leaving her skin warm and alive.

He walks away for a few seconds to let the rope loose a little and tells her to spread her legs. Rachel obeys without a second thought letting her hot pussy exposed to the air. Finn walks in front of her a look of concentration on his face. "Keep them spread, and you might just come." She's on edge from at least half an hour of constant pleasure, her endorphins are running as high as they ever have, and her entire sex is swollen and needy as he finally lets the flogger hit her slit. The blows are softer and just enough to make her moan instead of gasp.

Rachel can feel her thighs tensing, her pussy clenching with each blow until it's one too many and she's tumbling over the edge of ecstasy at the hands of a man she'd met only forty minutes before. He stops to let her come and walks away again, letting her arms down completely before untying her. She's pliant in his hands and lets him pick her up to carry her over to the bed, the purpose of which she thinks she understands more clearly now because her limbs are useless.

Finn covers with a blanket before stroking her hair in what is clearly a practiced gesture. He walks over to the small fridge she hadn't noticed until now and grabs a water bottle. "Drink some water, Rachel. That was really intense for you." He rubs her back, and she trusts him to rub her back because somehow, he'd known exactly what she needed. He stays with her for a few more minutes until he's suitably convinced that she's ok. "Now I know you came with your friend so please make sure she understands enough about aftercare to help if you end up going into sub drop. We don't like to send subs home alone especially after a scene like that."

"Of course. Thank you, Finn. Really, thank you."

"Just doing my job." His smile melts her heart.

**AN: **I'm back with another multi-chap fic. This is all M-rated (think 50 Shades but realistically characterized and well-researched and not stupid) so please join me for the ride :). I need to thank Sam (sdl90) and Kelsey (formerly a GleeTwin) for excellent collaboration and beta work.


	2. Chapter 2

He loves his job, he really does. Not many people can say they work in a place like this, or do the type of work he gets to. It's just that he can only take so many shifts on the stage. Every one of the erotic play technicians has to take their rotation, and some people love the show of it all and appreciate the opportunities they get to teach people and demonstrate their own prowess. He couldn't care less for most of the imbeciles he ends up having to deal with.

The couple he's working with now is very new to the lifestyle, and it shows in every movement. Tom has yet to grasp, even after fifteen minutes of solid instruction, that the proper way to achieve the desired welts and redness without bruises involves the use of the wrist. Winding up his entire body and lashing at his girlfriend again, Kathy lets out a scream that makes Finn cringe. There are good screams and bad screams and Kathy's is definitely the latter.

Finn takes the whip from the idiot and demonstrates the proper technique again, even over-exaggerating the wrist movement involved. As he goes to strike his girlfriend again, Finn stops him. "Try it on me first, Tom, I don't want you to hurt Kathy anymore if you do it incorrectly." He's getting dangerously close to being too cheeky with a client and if Tom reports him it's something that will definitely go on his record. Finn has only had a few complaints in his three years working here and all of them have come about after a few too many failures to understand a simple concept. He just doesn't have patience for complete idiots or guys who think that because they're a "dominant" they automatically know how to use a whip.

At any rate, he and his boss both know that he's the best guy she has right now, and she isn't about to let him go easily—even with another complaint. Finn holds out his arm, and Tom gets close enough to what he's supposed to be doing that Finn praises him. "Now try is on Kathy again. It's all in the wrist. The blow can be sharp but not heavy enough to leave a bruise." Sometimes he feels like he's a kindergarten teacher. Only most of his kids are overgrown idiots experimenting in something that's actually a way of life for thousands of people. He checks his watch before informing Tom that he has half an hour left before stepping back and relaxing against the post, still within the cordoned off area of the stage he's working on.

Technicians are required to stay with their station even if their expertise is no longer needed, it's better to stay safe and keep an eye on things. Tom really is finally starting to get the hang of it even if he still winds up too much using his shoulder.

Finn lets his mind wander. After three years working at Normal's Edge, he can afford to not give something like this his full attention. He never really expected that he'd end up working in a place like this, and he still lies to his mother and tells her that he works at a bar, which is kind of true, minus the alcohol and the fact that he whips people for a living.

His girlfriend in college had dragged him there one night on a dare and, while she left, he never did. Finn has found his place with them and under some serious apprenticeship he's worked his way up to be the most able to handle a whip. Because he really does love it. He loves the exchange power, and the way you can make skin the perfect shade of red that doesn't turn into bruises, the way scared little college kids come in here to experiment and how some stay because they too have found their place. Still, in three years he's only managed one steady girlfriend, and even with the occasional fuck, it's not enough to satisfy his real needs. Finn refuses to mix business with pleasure. There are no rules against meeting people at the club so long as you don't do anything while you're on the clock, but Finn won't on principle—even if it is a really handy way to meet women with one very important shared interest.

But he's still young, and he's biding his time until he finally meets the right woman. For now, he's plenty busy teaching other people how to properly please their lovers and occasionally getting the honors of doing it himself. It's not as common to have someone come in on their own and ask for a session, but it does happen. He had been lucky enough to get one just last week. Rachel. Her name fits with those wide brown eyes and the lips she likes to lick when she's nervous.

The girl had been pretty, nothing too special, but just curvy enough to make him notice. Over the years he's gotten very good at suppressing his own urges, it makes things really awkward when he gets a hard-on in front of a paying customer, but with this girl he'd had some trouble. She'd said she wasn't very experienced, but everything about her had screamed how much she'd needed it. The image of her face as she came still hangs behind his eyelids. He'd done that to her. With nothing more than a flogger he'd brought her to that place.

Girls like her don't usually come back though, and it isn't because they don't crave the pain—they always manage to find someone willing to spank them in private. Pretty girls with a submissive streak usually do. Finn's going to miss her if she never shows up again. And if she ever does, he's going to make sure she enjoys herself just as thoroughly a second time around.

He chimes into the session telling Tom to make sure to spread out his blows and not spend too much time on one area. Tom takes the correction, and Finn feels a prickling at the back of his neck that he recognizes as being watched. Of course he's being watched, he's on one of the stages, but this feels different. This is intense and he swivels his head until he catches sight of the very girl he'd been thinking about. She looks different, no corset, and her hair isn't as voluminous, but she looks hungrier somehow. The moment she realizes he's looking she drops her gaze.

:.:.:.:

She's tied to a bed, spread-eagle and panting already. Rachel tests the restraints and the tightness of them coils into a ball of arousal in the pit of her stomach—she isn't going anywhere. There's a dark chuckle from the corner of the room and Rachel strains her eyes trying to see who's laughing at her torment. Finn steps out from the shadows. "Someone's finally awake."

He's wearing his uniform and holding a crop that she knows holds one purpose. Before he'd used a flogger, but she'd never felt the sting of a crop. She has a feeling he'll be just as wonderful with it as he was with the flogger. He stalks up to her slapping it down on her tits and making her jump and pull at the restraints that don't let her move.

It's like he knows exactly what she wants, just by looking at her and the slight movements and moans and pants she makes. It feels like he's reading her mind as he keeps hitting her in all the places that make her the wettest. The underside of her tits and along her ribs until her skin is red and feels swollen and prickly in the best way. Eventually the strikes slow and then stop, and he's rubbing smooth oil over heated skin to help sooth it.

He keeps things professional, he doesn't strip, or even drop his fly, but he does kiss her. It's so much she feels like her heart is going to explode for this man. She would do anything to serve him. To be his completely in every sense. There's a sensation of vibration between her legs and she gasps because he has a vibrator to her clit making her mouth fall open enough for him to plunge his tongue inside.

He keeps things professional, but there's no fucking way this is professional, and she loves it. Her legs start to tense and shake and she's so on edge that everything shatters but doesn't fall apart.

The tension in her body snaps her awake, panting and horny as hell. The image of her dream is so crisp in her mind, and the ache between her thighs is one-hundred percent real and so delicious she might cry. The red numbers of her alarm clock glare at her accusingly, it's two in the morning and she has work tomorrow, but there's no way she's going to sleep without relieving herself of all of this build-up.

Her skin is hypersensitive to every touch, the silk of her camisole and the softness of her sheets make her already hard nipples ache to be touched and squeezed and pulled. Rachel indulges herself pulling one dark bud between her fingers and rolling it before tightening them and sighing. It felt so much better in the dream, but this works for now. She focuses on the dream as her hands toy with her tits and slip into her panties. She's wet and soft as she parts her own lips pressing two fingers gently inside herself. It isn't enough—doesn't come close to comparing with even the remembered feeling of a wet dream.

Sighing and rolling over to reach the drawer in her bedside table, Rachel pulls out the gag gift Santana had bought her for her last birthday. A huge dildo in hot pink. Laying back down on the bed Rachel shimmies out of her shorts and panties letting her legs fall apart, and she immerses herself in her fantasy. If she's staying up at two in the morning, this better be the best orgasm she's ever had.

She pictures it in her mind, just like the dream, herself tied down, Finn standing there, looking at her like she was a piece of meat. He walks towards her and undoes his fly keeping on that damn black uniform of his that makes him look so sexy. In her mind, he's there pressing up against her slick folds, and she can hear his voice in her head. The gravelly quality that melts her insides is sliding smoothly through her ears. _Little slut's all wet._ "Yes, Sir. All for you." It's a whisper. _Do you want to touch yourself? Of course you do. You're a dirty little whore—you can't keep those fingers away from that greedy little pussy can you? _"I can, Sir. I can." _Who do you belong to? Who's body is this, slut?_ "I belong to you, Sir. I'm yours to use, Sir. Please, Sir. Please use me."

Rachel's pushes the dildo into herself slowly, and then starts fucking herself. Hard and rough and just the way she thinks Finn would fuck a dirty little slut like her.

:.:.:.:

It's been a few days since her dream, and she just has to see him again, if anything to prove to herself that he isn't this perfect dominant she has fantasized him to be in her head. He's human and just because he wears stupid black clothes and she only knows his first name doesn't mean he's what she's been looking for. It just makes him a guy who works at a club. Her dream hasn't left her though, the feeling of being at his mercy, even in her head, is enough to make her squirm.

So she puts on some of her sexiest clothes, nothing compared to what she borrowed from Santana, and catches a taxi to Normal's Edge just hoping that he's working.

When she walks in, she asks one of the wait staff if they can find her Finn, and the waiter smirks at her saying that he's managing stage three tonight. She leans against one of the bare brick columns of the club trying not to feel like an awful voyeur as she watches him do his job. He really does seem to be good at it, and from this angle, his ass looks fantastic in those slacks. He looks at her like he can read her thoughts, and she feels the prickles of shame and arousal mixed in the best cocktail.

She stays where she is, leaning against the brick and letting its cool presence sooth her racing heart and shaking body. He keeps looking at her, glances through thick lashes that make her heart stop. Eventually she doesn't lower her gaze when he looks in her direction. She isn't sure if there's a challenge in his eyes or if she's imagining it, but either way when the couple finishes she marches up to the stage and hands him a fifty. "Dealer's choice," and as an afterthought she lowers her voice and speaks respectfully, "Please Sir."

:.:.:.:

There's something about her that he can't put his finger on. She exudes innocence when he has a feeling she's anything but. And she seems so shy up until the moment she marches up to him waving a bill and telling him it's dealer's choice. Without hesitating, he tells her to strip. He has quite an advantage over her in height, and she has to crane her neck to look at him. The fire in her eyes is burning, but she follows his orders swiftly never removing her eyes from him.

He'd expected her to back down, and with her standing naked in front of him, and even more beautiful than he remember, he has to think quickly. "You just want to be a good little sub don't you?" He plays with her because it's what she wants. She wants the fantasy.

"Yes Sir. I just want to make you happy." She plays the part so well, and he can feel himself slipping into it—not being as detached as he likes himself to be.

"Kneel on the bench. I'm going to strap you down. Your safeword is red, understand, slut?" As she kneels he closes his eyes and focuses on anything but her ass that is so perfect and soon going to be so red. He can think about this all he wants later when he's alone and not on a stage in the middle of the club. He pulls the leather straps across her calves and then secures her wrists on the upper level of the kneeler feeling his pants get tighter.

Finn grabs a crop from the bucket of toys and starts on her ass letting himself fall into the familiar ritual. He moves to her strapped down arms next getting a strange pleasure from watching her experience the new pain. Her back is too him so he can't torment her tits like he wants to, but with her legs spread and strapped down he can bring the crop up against her pussy. It comes back wet, and he wants to get her off again, but a bigger part of him doesn't think she really deserves it yet. "Someone gets so wet for a good whipping…" He just rubs the leather against her soaked pussy making her thrash against her restraints and beg. "Unless I tell you otherwise, you won't beg. Only worthless cunts beg to come, and you're not a worthless cunt are you pretty girl?"

"No Sir, no Sir, I'm not." Her skin is covered in sweat and her welts are at the worst point they'll reach, and he knows she's had enough for tonight.

"You're a good girl, now let's get you of the stage. I'll take you to a room." He undoes the straps and grabs his radio from the corner of the stage saying that he's taking a twenty minute break before grabbing one of the soft, silk robes that they keep around for times like this. Rachel is panting and her eyes are wide as he wraps in the material. He folds up her clothes before walking her to one of the quiet private rooms with a bed. "Settle down," he pats the bed and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. "What kind of tea do you drink?"

She looks at him like he's insane and he points to the electric kettle he's put the water in. "Tea? I don't want you drinking something cold right now because you look like you're a little too close to going into shock."

"Lemon," she rasps out, "Just warm water with lemon." She's still looking at him like he's crazy, and as he's squeezing a lemon wedge from the fridge into a cup she bursts out with, "And you do this for a living?"

"Pays the bills, it's fun… and I like to think I'm good at it," he pours the water over the lemon and hands it to her.

"You're… yeah, you're good at it." She shivers and takes a sip of the lemon water.

"Look, Rachel," and she looks like she's surprised he remembers her name, "I have to get back to the stage, just—just stay like half an hour more because I know things got intense up there. I'm sorry I know I probably over-stepped my bounds, and I don't want you to suffer because I can't control myself." He hadn't acted professionally. He can tell himself he was just giving her the experience she wanted, the fantasy, but that's a lie. Maybe it really has been too long since he's had a good release for this energy in his personal life.

She takes another sip of her drink and gives him a look that he can't decipher before she says, in a voice so quiet he almost can't hear it, "Don't apologize for giving me what I wanted. I hate when guys do that."

**AN:** So incredibly pleased with the response to this so far—honestly I was a little surprised at how much everyone likes it. Thanks again to Kelsey and Sam for general nefarious planning. Anyway, I promise I will update as soon as I can, but my schedule is busy and my writing habits tend to be eccentric. Rumor has it if you leave a review gets a night in a private room with Finn Hudson and some dealer's choice ;)!


End file.
